


The Patient

by BrokenWings0712



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dementia, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Nurses & Nursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 18:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19817983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenWings0712/pseuds/BrokenWings0712
Summary: A fic following the steady decline of Dean Winchester after being admitted to an assisted living facility as told by his nurse.





	The Patient

**Author's Note:**

> So, as a nurse who works in geriatrics, this fic was truly a labor of love. Originally inspired by a conversation on Twitter, it was only supposed to be a less than 2K one-shot. Woops.

4/14/2053 @ 2235

“Okay, so what’s the deal with the new guy, Mr., uh,” I paused and glanced down at my notes, “Campbell? I read a little bit about him in his chart, but what’s he been like so far?” Coming off vacation wasn’t too bad—switching into nurse-mode became second nature for me years ago—except when new admissions came into the facility while I was gone. Then it was all about playing catch up that first day back.

“He’s okay,” Liz told me. “He’s got dementia, so we’re doing the usual care for him, plus a few meds at nine-a, two-p, and eight-p, and q-two-hour checks around the clock.”

I raised my brows. “Even during sleeping hours?”

“Especially during sleeping hours. He’s fine during the day, but the POA said he occasionally gets night terrors, and we should call him in if we can’t reorient Mr. Campbell.”

“Great,” I groaned.

Liz grinned and passed me the med keys. “Welcome back, Taylor.”

I grabbed my report notes and followed her to the med carts before unlocking the first narcotic box. Handing her the log book, I asked, “Can I go back to the beach now? Please?”

“Nuh-uh. No way you’re getting out of this one. I need to go get some sleep, so I can be back bright and early to relieve your ass.”

“C’est la vie,” I murmured. “You ready?”

She trained her eyes on the sheet in front of her. “Go for it.”

“Alright. Johnson has three Lortabs, Hudson has seven Ativan…”  
_____________

4/15/2053 @ 0624

I knocked on the door to room 203 and slid my key into the lock. “Mr. Campbell?” I called while entering. “It’s time for breakfast.” The night had passed (thankfully) uneventfully, but we’d gotten things rolling about an hour and a half ago, and he was the last person I needed to get up before making sure the kitchen was ready to go.

The elderly man rolled over and cracked an eye open at me. “Who’re you?” he grunted.

I smiled at his bedhead and helped him get untangled from the blankets. “Good morning, Mr. Campbell. I’m Taylor, one of the nurses here.”

He sat up slowly and ran a hand down his face. “Time is it?”

“Almost six-thirty. We start serving in about twenty minutes. You ready to go eat?”

“Only if there’s coffee.”

I handed him the cane leaning against the bedside table and put a hand on his shoulder as he stood up. Regardless of how well my patients thought they could get around, I was always on guard for that one time they’d get off balance, so I could catch them before they fell. “I’ll make sure to have a hot cup waiting for you,” I told him. “Do you want to go ahead and get dressed or wait until afterwards?”

“I’ll wait.” He headed into the bathroom and flicked on the light, squinting in the sudden brightness.

“Okay, call if you need me.”

Mr. Campbell entered the dining room several minutes later, a tattered grey robe cinched around his waist and hair still sticking up a bit in the back. I set down the plates I was carrying and grabbed the carafe of regular coffee before making my way over to him and flipping the white porcelain cup upright. “You’re not a decaf man, right?”

“Hell no,” he grumbled. “I live on this stuff.”

“Good.” I poured him a cup and started to hand him a few creamer containers, but he waved me off. “So, what are you eating this morning?”

Mr. Campbell wrapped his hands around the cup and hummed gratefully after taking a sip. “The works.”

“Sure thing.”

He flashed me a grin. “Thanks, Sweetheart.”

“No problem.”

Breakfast carried on as usual—plates were served, meds were passed, blood pressures taken—and then we were cleaning up. My eyes kept roaming over the dwindling crowd searching for dishes to pick up or anyone that needed help getting back to their room. Everything seemed to go smoothly, and, after giving report to Liz, I grabbed my things and clocked out. Another successful shift done. Time to head home and into my loving bed.

As I was threading my arms through the sleeves of my jacket, I caught sight of Mr. Campbell still sitting at his place in the dining room. One hand was gripping his cane, knocking it gently against his inner thigh, and the other was fisted under his chin, eyes roaming over the other people in the room while his tablemate rattled on about something. I smiled softly and turned back to the front door. My new patient was going to fit right in.  
_____________

4/29/2053 @ 0805

“Mr. Campbell, can I have a word with you?”

Bright green eyes smiled up at me. “Sure, sweetheart, but what’re you doing here during the day?”

“Got called in,” I explained, perching on the edge of the chair beside his recliner. “Liz is sick.”

“That’s too bad.”

I nodded and folded my hands in my lap. “I need to ask you about something.”

“Shoot.”

“You wanna tell me why you’ve been stealing salt shakers from the dining room?”

His face shut down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I stood and walked over to the cabinet below the sink in his kitchenette. Opening it, I began pulling out all the shakers my tech had found earlier and lining them up on the counter. There were eight in total, and all but one were empty. I raised my brows at him. “I think you do.” 

He pursed his lips. Busted.

I sighed and crossed the room before squatting beside him. “What are you doing with all those, Mr. Campbell?”

Silence.

“Okay, look, this needs to stop. You’re on a low sodium diet, and—”

“No, YOU look,” he snapped, pushing a crooked finger in my face. “Fred Thompson died yesterday, and I’m not taking any chances!”

“Okay, okay.” I backed away and held up my hands in a non-threatening gesture. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

He motioned for me to take a seat and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the top of his cane. “You ever hear about ghosts?”

“I’m a night nurse, Mr. Campbell. I’ve heard my fair share of ghost stories.”

He smirked. “I hunt them, me an’ my brother, and ghosts are repelled by one thing. Care to guess what?”

“If I were a betting woman, I’d have to say salt.”

“Now you’re getting it.” Mr. Campbell winked at me and settled back into his chair, the smile still on his lips. “Wanna know why?”

I shrugged. I didn’t believe anything he was saying, but sometimes you had to join patients in their world in order to bring them back around to reality. 

“It’s pure,” he continued. “Demons don’t like it either, but that’s a story for another day.”

“And you think Fred Thompson might come back as a ghost, is that it?”

“Maybe. He had one hell of an anger problem and like I said, I’m not taking any chances.”

“Well I tell you what,” I stood and made my way over to the line of salt shakers on the counter, “how about I leave you one of these for emergencies, and if you happen to need more, you call me. How’s that?”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure. Besides, it’s my job to take care of you and all the other residents here. I can’t just let random ghosts run around if they’re hurting people.”

I had zero intention of letting him have more of the stuff, but he didn’t need to know that. It was just one of those little lies I had to tell dementia patients every day in order to give them a little bit of comfort, and, if he was serious about his plan to only use the salt for “ghosts,” one shaker in his room wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. If nothing else, I could sneak back in later and return it to the dining room without him noticing.

I gathered all but the shaker with the least amount of salt in it and backed out the door. “See ya later, Mr. Campbell,” I called. “I’ll be back in a little while with your medicine.”

He gave me a mock salute, and I left. 

As I was making my way up the hall, I fumbled a bit with the load in my arms and cursed under my breath when I dropped a few. I stooped to pick them up, and that was when I noticed a pair of dress shoes heading my way.

“Sorry,” I said immediately for being in the way.

“No, no. It’s fine. Let me help you.” The dark-haired man picked up the shakers that I’d dropped and then took a few more out of my arms. “I assume you’re taking these to the dining area, correct?”

I shifted the shakers in my hands. “Yeah, but I’ve got it. I appreciate the help, but I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

He tilted his head and smiled. “Perhaps, but I think I know where you got these from, so it’s only fair that I help return them.”

“You do, huh?”

“Mr. Campbell’s room?”

I huffed a laugh and shook my head. “How’d you know?”

“I’m a…friend of the family, but Dean’s been in my care for a while, so I know how he gets sometimes. I’ll try to smooth things over with him during today’s visit and keep a vigilant eye out for more salt in the future.”

We began walking, and I asked, “So you come by a lot then?”

He nodded. “I spend time with Dean each day. It seems to help him.”

“Ah. I usually work nights, so it’s no surprise we haven’t crossed paths before.”

He raised his brows. “Actually, I’m quite shocked. I expected to be called in by now to help him get back to sleep.”

I stopped and looked at him. “You’re the POA?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t unheard of for the POA to be a non-relative, but usually they were related somehow. “Okay, cool. Well, I hope I don’t have to wake you up anytime soon, but if I do, I’m glad I finally have a familiar face to look for.”

“It’s no trouble. My job is to watch over him. I’m only sorry it’s reached the point where I can’t do so at home.”

We reached the dining area, and he helped me put all the shakers on the counter that stretched along the back wall. 

“Hey, don’t go blaming yourself, alright? Dementia sucks. Eventually there comes a time when people with dementia require more care than they can receive at home, and that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.” He pressed his lips into a thin line and stared off in the direction we’d just come from but said nothing. “From what I can tell,” I continued, “you’re still very dedicated to Mr. Campbell. Not everyone has that kind of support.”

“Yes, well, I should get going. I have a feeling he’s ready to see me.”

I waved him on. “Yeah, no, I totally understand, and thanks again…?”

“Cas.”

“Cas.” We locked eyes, and I gave him a warm smile. I always felt bad for the family members. They’d lost so much, were worn so thin, and from what he’d told me, this man was just a friend trying to help out when no one else could. Poor guy had a lot on his shoulders. “Take care of yourself, huh?”

Cas returned the smile and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “Have a good day, Taylor.”

My smile faltered until I remembered the name tag on my scrubs. Right. That’s how he knew my name. I shook my head and got to work wiping down the shakers with a warm rag before replacing them on their appropriate tables. There was still a lot to do before my next med pass…  
_____________

5/2/2053 @ 0231

“SAM!!!”

My partner and I exchanged a brief but knowing look before rushing from the front desk. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where the call had come from—there were only so many male patients in the facility, and of those few, only one resided on 200 hall. We were there in seconds, my keys already out and hand raised to knock on the door. Knocking at a time like this was just a courtesy thing, habit really. I slipped the key into the hole and gave it a practiced twist before entering the room. 

“Mr. Campbell?” I called. With any luck, he was already awake and would be easily reoriented. Luck, however, wasn’t something I relied on very often.

“Cas,” came the reply, followed by a series of soft grunts. “No, no, no. Sammy!” 

He was all but writhing on the bed, the sheets a twisted mass on the floor, and even in the dim light spilling in from the hallway I could see a sheen of sweat covering his face. I crossed the floor in a flash and put a gentle hand on his shoulder while Tabitha flipped on the bathroom light.

“Mr. Campbell?” I asked again. “Mr. Campbell, I need you to wake up for me.”

He whimpered and clutched the pillow beneath his head a little tighter.

“Mr. Campbell, wake up, buddy. Mr. Campbell?”

“SAM!”

Tabitha and I both flinched back at the volume of his wail in the small room. He was clearly in distress, and it was a wonder his neighbors hadn’t woken up already and called to see what was happening.

After several more failed attempts, I made a decision. “Go up front and call his POA,” I told Tabitha while continuing to run a soothing hand along the patient’s arm. “His name is Cas. Just give him a head’s up about what’s happening. If he wants to come on in, that’s fine, but he doesn’t have to. I’ll stay here and keep trying to get Mr. Thompson to wake up, but I don’t know what state he’ll be in once he does.”

“So, call Cas, and tell him what?” she asked, dark eyes searching mine. “That he’s having some kind of night terror?”

“Yes. Tell him Mr. Campbell has been screaming in his sleep for several minutes, and so far, we haven’t been able to wake him up. Go.”

With a curt nod, Tabitha turned and hurried from the room while I went back to trying to rouse Mr. Campbell.

After a while, I decided to try something different. Running to the bathroom, I grabbed a washcloth and soaked it with cool water in the sink. I then returned to my patient and dabbed it against his temple. 

“Dean? Dean, can you hear me? Come back to me, buddy. It’s just a dream, okay? Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real. Dean?”

Green eyes snapped open, and before I knew what was happening, he’d slapped away the hand I’d had on his shoulder and gotten my other wrist in a vise-grip. “Who are you?” Mr. Campbell boomed out. It was a voice much harsher than the joking tone I’d gotten used to, and a bolt of fear ran through me for a split second before I went back into nurse-mode.

“Dean,” I started, keeping my voice stern. First names usually went over better when trying to bring a patient back from the brink. It created a sense of familiarity that often put them at ease without even realizing it. “Dean, I’m Taylor, your nurse. You were having a nightmare.”

He eyed me warily and still didn’t release the hold on my wrist. “Where’s Sam?”

My face screwed up in confusion. I’d never heard the name until he was screaming it a few minutes prior. “Who?”

“Sam, where is he?”

“I—I don’t know. I’m sorry. Dean, you need to calm down, okay?”

In a move much smoother than I imagined him capable of, Mr. Campbell sat up and jerked me down so that we were eye to eye. My heart pounded in my chest as I brought one hand up to rest lightly on his forearm. 

“Christo.”

I blinked. “What?”

He watched me closely, eyes never leaving my own, and his grip lessened a fraction. “Not a demon then,” he grunted.

I sucked in a sharp breath. “I—”

“Dean! Let her go!”

My head whipped around to stare at the source of the commanding voice. Cas, still in his suit and trench coat, was advancing towards us with long strides. His expression broached no room for argument, and Mr. Campbell dropped my hand like he’d been burned. Once freed, I clutched my wrist to my chest, backed away to the wall and watched while Cas gripped Mr. Campbell’s shoulder and looked him in the eye.

“This woman is not a threat, Dean,” he said. “She’s here to help you.”

Mr. Campbell pointed an accusing finger at me. “She won’t tell me where Sam is. She’s keeping him from me!”

Cas’s face fell into something softer, and his voice dropped to a much kinder tone. “Dean,” he said hesitantly, “Sam’s gone, remember?”

“Gone?” Mr. Campbell asked in a small voice. 

Cas nodded. “Yes. He’s been dead thirty-three years.”

“Sammy? But he…We were just…” Mr. Campbell held up his hands, turning them over and examining them in the dim light, before looking at me, his eyes wide and face child-like with innocence. “You’re my…my nurse?”

Dropping my arms back to my sides, I swallowed. “Yes. I’m Taylor. I usually work nights here and help you get ready for breakfast.”

Recognition flashed across his features, followed by that haunted look a patient gets when they realize what’s happening, when they know they’re losing the battle. “You bring me my coffee.”

“That’s right,” I told him with a smile. “You take it black, fully caffeinated, because you ‘live on the stuff.’”

He wiped a hand down his face and dropped his head while gripping the edge of the mattress. “I’m so sorry,” Mr. Campbell choked out. “God, I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You’re fine. It’s not the first time a patient got a bit handsy,” I joked, my attempt at lightening the situation falling flat.

Cas sat beside Dean and wrapped an arm around the man’s shoulder’s. “Do you mind giving us a few minutes alone?” he asked.

“I don’t know…”

“We’ll be fine,” he assured me at the same time Mr. Campbell said, “I’m good now.”

I stared hard at the trench coated man, watching his face for any sign that he wasn’t as confident as he appeared or couldn’t handle the situation but found nothing. “I’m just going to make my rounds,” I told them both, “but then I’ll be back to check on you.” I pointed at the call button on the cord around Mr. Campbell’s neck. “Call if you need anything, anything at all, and I’ll come running.”

Cas nodded his understanding, and I reluctantly turned to go. On the way out, I caught just the briefest snippet of conversation between the two men.

“Cas…Cas, can you stay?”

“Of course, Dean. Rest now. I’ll watch over you.”  
_____________

9/18/2053 @ 0156

Another night. Another nightmare. Another call.

I massaged my temple and tried to block out the tortured screams in my head as I poured another cup of coffee. The nightmares had become more frequent, the cries for help more pitiful, and my heart closer to breaking. We’d discussed medicine changes with Cas, who had seemed hesitant at first to accept that Mr. Campbell had reached that point, and implemented a few over the last couple of months, but nothing so far had helped. Cas had taken to sitting bedside most nights back in June, and he was all but living at the facility himself these days, only leaving once his friend was up and heading for breakfast.

I felt…lost, like I was failing them both, and it made me sick. I’d quickly formed an attachment to Mr. Campbell—something I tried not to do because eventually all my patients died as was the hazard of working in geriatrics—and not being able to give him what he needed killed me a little more each time I was forced to call Cas for backup. Of course, Cas never blamed me. He continued to insist it was fine, that caring for his friend was his main purpose in life. Surely he had other things to do, though, right? Take sleep, for example. When the heck did the man manage to get any? Liz said he was always back to visit by lunch at the latest and left no earlier than 8p.m. after he saw Mr. Campbell safely to bed.

“Care to make another?”

I smiled and grabbed the travel mug Cas offered me filling it halfway before pouring a heavy dose of creamer and honey into it. “He asleep?” I asked while dropping a steel stirrer into the drink. 

Cas swirled the liquid, staring down at the steam as it curled steadily up towards his face. “Yes. Though it was…difficult to get him to relax.”

“Think he’ll be out for a while?”

Cas offered me the barest hint of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I can only hope so. Dean hasn’t been doing well lately. I fear his dementia is taking a turn for the worse.”

“Well,” I took his stirrer and dropped it along with mine into the dish basin to soak, “speaking from experience, patients with dementia tend to go through periods of stasis for a while where their care remains consistent before declining rapidly. Then they’ll stay at that level for a while longer before declining again. It’s normal. I know that doesn’t make what you’re going through any easier, but…” I shrugged helplessly. “Dementia sucks. That’s just all there is to it.”

“The human body never ceases to amaze me.” 

I furrowed my brow, watching as Cas took a tentative sip of coffee. “What do you mean?”

“Take cancer, for example,” he started while leaning back against the edge of the counter. “It mutated for years, morphing into various forms and killing at an impressive rate. It was, undoubtedly, one of the most hated diseases mankind has encountered, but even it was eradicated eventually.”

I nodded, thinking of the old days, of the generations before me that suffered the loss of so many family members and friends to cancer. That was before EradiCA was developed. Administered intravenously to the first test groups, the medication worked by altering genes that predisposed people to cancer and effectively rendering them useless with little to no side effects. Once approved by the FDA, EradiCA was converted into a vaccine to be administered worldwide free of charge and then to pregnant mothers during the twenty-fourth week of pregnancy. The creator never revealed his or her identity and refused to accept compensation of any kind for the drug. It was a beautiful moment in history that showcased the good we could do if we just loved one another.

“Dementia and Alzheimer’s Disease, however, have clung tenaciously to humans, robbing them of everything they are until they are stripped down to nothing more than husks.” Cas’s face broke, and he once more stared down into his cup. “It’s torture.”

I reached out, rubbing his back gently. Patients aren’t the only ones nurses care for. “I’m sorry. You and Mr. Campbell seem very close, and I know how difficult this must be for you.”

“Dean has always been larger than life, able to overcome even the most impossible of obstacles, and to see him losing himself like this…You’re right. It’s extremely painful.”

“Just keep giving him all the love you can. Even when he doesn’t recognize you, deep down Mr. Campbell will always know you are a friend, and your presence will comfort him.”

Cas looked up at me with a trace of hope in his eyes. “You think so?”

Leaning in, I bumped his shoulder gently with my own and smiled. “I know so. Now go on and try to get some rest, okay?”

“I’ll try.” Cas screwed the lid back on his mug and started across the dining room but stopped when he reached the mouth of the hall leading to the apartments and turned back around. “I’ve grown to appreciate our talks. Thank you, Taylor.”

I raised my cup at him and smiled again. “No problem, Cas.”  
_____________

12/24/2053 @ 0605

“Merry Christmas to me.”

I huffed a laugh and shook my head. “Relax, dude. I’m just doing Liz and Myra a favor, okay? Now wipe that grin off your face so we can start getting these clothes off.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” Mr. Campbell said while threading his arms through the sleeves of his black t-shirt, “but I don’t need help showering. I’ve been doing it for a long time, kiddo. I think I’m good.”

“Over the head,” I murmured and helped him get it off. “Remember that nasty spill you took in here a few weeks ago? You didn’t get too banged up, but we thought it’d be best if someone was here from now on just in case you need a little assistance, and today you get me.”

“Oh okay.” Mr. Campbell nodded, but the look on his face told me he didn’t at all recall slipping in the shower and busting his head on the faucet or the eight stitches he got in the ER. Cas was by his side constantly for nearly a week straight following the incident, the man’s face creased with concern, but if Mr. Campbell noticed, he didn’t say anything.

I knelt in front of him and slipped his pants and boxer briefs off his ankles before tossing them in the clothes hamper in the corner. Standing up, I gripped his upper arm and lifted gently. “Nice and slow now. Watch your step, okay? That rug won’t slip, but that doesn’t mean it won’t trip you up if we aren’t careful.” I kept a close eye on every move Mr. Campbell made, my body tensed to catch him if he lost his balance and started to go down. Once he was past the curtain and safely seated on the bench, I let go and handed him the sprayer. 

“You know,” Mr. Campbell said while testing the water with his left hand, “I never thought I’d live this long.”

“We never do,” I laughed.

Wet hair, body, exchange sprayer for shampoo. 

“No, I always figured I’d go out guns blazing, Butch and Sundance style.”

I shut the body wash with a click and handed him the soapy rag. “Who?”

Mr. Campbell raised his eyebrows at me in surprise. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

Scrub, rinse, cut the water off.

“Sammy was the one who should’ve kept things going,” he continued as I wrapped him in a warm towel, “not me. He was made for leading, and you’d better believe he’d have done a better job of networking than Cas and I did. I mean, we tried, but Sam was always more organized. Hell, you should have seen the trunk of my baby when he had her.” Mr. Campbell waved a hand, sending it sailing smoothly across the air in front of him. “The weapons cache was spotless, not a thing out of place.”

Fresh tee, underwear, socks, jeans, shoes.

“Your Impala?” I asked, having heard him refer to the car as “Baby” several times in the past, though it didn’t make sense that he had her while in the FBI. “I thought you agents all had standard issue vehicles for on the job?”

“No way. There were a few times I was forced to give her up, but she was there for most every case we ever worked.”

I helped him thread his arms through a red flannel and reached for the pomade he kept on the counter. Taking some on my fingertips, I began working it through his silver hair. “You guys must have been pretty good then. I know government jobs don’t usually allow much leeway when it comes to regulations and whatnot.”

Mr. Campbell flashed me a slick grin. “Oh, sweetheart. We were the best.”

We shared a comfortable silence while I finished styling his hair, and then I helped him get lathered up for his shave. He had his chin tilted up, and I was barely two strokes in when bright eyes glanced down at me. “Hey, you think Sammy will be here before or after lunch?”

I hesitated, the lie sitting heavy on my tongue. “I don’t know, buddy,” I offered while rinsing the razor and avoiding his gaze. “Cas should be here soon, though. Maybe Sam will come with him.”

Mr. Campbell hummed deep in his chest, and my heart ached once more for him.  
_____________

1/26/2054 @ 2342

“Let me help you. Please, Dean. It’s getting worse, and I—seeing you like this, it isn’t right.”

I hesitated outside the apartment door, not wanting to intrude on their discussion. Liz had told me in report that Cas had yet to leave, something about Dean having one of his rare good days and getting in quality time while he still could, and so I had gone ahead and made him coffee, expecting him to remain at the bedside all night.

“No! I told you, man. I’m fine, okay?”

“But—”

“Look,” Mr. Campbell’s voice was softer, “you think I want to depend on strangers to do everything for me? You think I’m cool with having them wipe my ass and watch me like a freakin’ kid and tell me that I can’t have another serving of bacon because the doc is worried about my blood pressure?”

“I could get rid of all that if you’d just—”

“Yeah, but your healing crap would fix the dementia, too.”

My eyes widened. Fix dementia? That was…world changing. 

“I fail to see how improving your quality of life is a bad thing.”

“Cas, it’s just that…all the crap we’ve been through, all the shit we’ve seen…there are some things I want to forget.”

“Like Sam?”

Someone scoffed. “C’mon. You know I could never, ever, forget him.”

“Dean, you’ve been forgetting what happened to him more and more. He didn’t die for this.”

“He did, actually. He wanted me to die of old age.”

“Not like this!”

Silence. I knew I had long overstepped my bounds, but I was too invested in these men, had allowed myself to care too much, and I felt like whatever conversation they were having would answer more than a few questions I had about them.

“I rebuilt you, Dean, remember? I held your soul in my hands, and it was good, pure, even after Hell. You have carried the weight of the world on your shoulders for too long, and I’m glad to see you finally unburdened, but at what cost?” There was a pause, and when Cas spoke again, his voice was closer. “Watching you become something you’re not has always been the most difficult part of being your friend.”

“I never asked you to stick around.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t. You never ask for help, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

I startled when the door opened suddenly and brought me face to face with the dark-haired man. “Sorry,” I sputtered. I held the mug up for him to see. “I, uh, Liz told me you were still here, and I figured you might be ready for some coffee if you were planning on staying the night, and since I had to come check on Mr. Campbell anyway, I just thought, you know, uh. Anyway, how is he? Asleep yet?” Wow. It was a good thing the people I usually lied to were out of their minds because when it came to lying to a regular person I sucked.

Cas furrowed his brow but didn’t comment on my lame attempt at hiding the fact that I had clearly been eavesdropping. Instead he just looked longingly at the cup in my hand before shaking his head. “No. I’m afraid not. Though I suggest you leave him be for a while.”

“Oh?” My voice was too high. Dammit! Acting casual was so not my thing.

“Dean and I had…a disagreement. I felt it necessary to broach a certain topic while he had a clear mind, but that was bad judgement on my part. I should try and respect Dean’s wishes, but I’m finding it difficult to do so as his disease progresses.” He shifted his weight before swallowing hard. “I’m available should you need me, but I don’t think I’ll be staying tonight.”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine. You need to rest and—”

“Excuse me.” Cas brushed by me quickly, a fist pressed to his mouth, and I watched his shoulders start to shake as he rounded the corner.  
_____________

6/15/2054 @ 0723

“Mr. Campbell?”

The man smiled up at me from his chair on the front porch. “Hey, Sweetheart.”

I put a hand on his shoulder and glanced out at the parking lot. “What’re you doing out here? Breakfast is almost over, and you need to eat something.”

“Can’t.” He waved his cane toward the road. “We’re gonna head out soon.”

“Cas is taking you out today?” The last time they did that had been months ago, and Mr. Campbell wandered off while Cas was paying the bill at a local diner. Cas hadn’t mentioned trying it again.

“Nah. Sammy caught a case in Montana. Sounds like some vamps getting their rocks off with the locals.”

I pursed my lips. It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned something like that, but it was becoming more frequent. “When is he supposed to be picking you up?” I asked, playing along.

“Soon.”

Biting my lower lip, I took a seat in the rocker beside him and laid a hand on his forearm. Mr. Campbell eyed it before glancing up at me quizzically. “Dean…Sam isn’t coming today.”

“Yes, he is. He called me and said to be ready.” 

“How could Sam call you? You don’t have a phone anymore, remember?”

He shook his head and focused on the road. “No. He’s coming. He’ll be here.”

“Dean—”

“Sammy’s coming!” Mr. Campbell snapped. He then sighed and wiped a hand down his face before repeating himself in a quieter tone. “Sammy’s coming.”

“Okay.” I leaned back into the rocker and pushed against the ground with my toes. “How about I wait with you then? I’d love to meet him.”

“Any minute now,” he murmured. “He’s coming. I know it.”  
_____________

8/19/2054 @ 0156

“He’s not really responding when we call him by his last name anymore. It’s like he doesn’t get that we’re speaking to him specifically.”

Cas leaned forward in his chair, propping his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his clasped hands as he gazed at his friend’s sleeping form. “Dean’s always been very informal,” he said slowly. “Perhaps it would be best if the staff calls him by his first name from now on.”

“Are you okay with that?” I asked. “State requires us to have explicit permission to call patients by anything other than their last name.”

“I’ve heard you call patients other names before.”

“Well, yeah, but I try not to on a regular basis. I know it’s not proper, but sometimes it helps them feel more at home, you know?”

He rubbed a finger absently across his lips. “If Dean responds better to his first name, that is what you should call him.”

“Okay.” I inhaled. “I’ll make a note of it in his chart.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”  
_____________

11/2/2054 @ 0318

“No! Get out of my way, Cas!”

“Dean! Dean, listen to me. She’s not here.”

“I have to stop it! I have to save her!”

Cas cupped Mr. Campbell’s face and forced him to meet his gaze. “Your mother is gone, Dean. There’s nothing you could have done for her.”

“No,” Mr. Campbell replied hoarsely, wild eyes roaming his friend’s face. “No, I have to stop it.”

“You can’t.”

Mr. Campbell looked at me, his face full of despair, before turning back to his friend. All at once, the fight left his body, and Mr. Campbell sagged against the wall. I rushed over, but Cas already had his arms around him and was squeezing tight.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”  
_____________

2/14/2055 @ 0435

“Dean?” I dropped the paperwork in my hands and folded them on the counter in front of me. “It’s still early, bud. What’re you doing up?”

He held a finger up to his lips and waved me closer while glancing around. “There’s something here,” he whispered after I stood and leaned across the desk. “I don’t know what, but I can feel it.”

“Oh okay.” I silently made my way out of the office and to his side. “You want to hang out up here with me for a while in case it comes out?”

Mr. Campbell licked his lips and nodded, eyes still darting around the room.

Placing a hand on his elbow, I lead him to one of the plush armchairs in the lobby where he’d be in clear view of my desk. “You want some coffee?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “I just made a fresh pot.”

He nodded again, and I left to grab him his usual cup and snack. It wouldn’t take long until he was hungry, but there was still some time before we started serving breakfast. When he first started wandering the halls at night, we quickly learned to have coffee and a snack waiting for him. It calmed him down and redirected his mind to more pleasant things.

Placing the mug and plate on the table beside him, I patted Mr. Campbell on the shoulder. “Alright, Dean. You stay here, and I’ll be right over there if you need me.”

He smiled up at me, some of the lines already leaving his face. “Thanks, Sweetheart.”  
_____________

7/22/2055 @ 0715

“Here you go,” I said while pressing the mug into Cas’s hands. 

He nodded his thanks and continued staring at where Mr. Campbell was rocking on the porch. “He wouldn’t listen to me. I tried, but…” Cas sighed and shook his head. “He won’t hear of it.”

“All we can do is try to work around his ideations. That’s part of it.” The words sounded hollow even to my own ears.

“Yes, but then what?”

“Make him comfortable.” I shrugged. “Sometimes it’s easier to enter their world and play along for a little while. Dean still seems to be in good physical condition, and he’s usually in a pretty good mood, so at least we’ve got that going for us.”

Cas deflated, and I ached for him. We were fighting a losing battle, and we knew it, but that didn’t make it any easier.  
_____________

10/31/2055 @ 1251

I was sanitizing handrails when I heard it: the shuffle of slippered feet on the carpet behind me. Smiling softly, I wiped my hands. “Hey, Dean,” I said while turning towards the noise. “What’s—oh. What’s up, Mrs. Tucker?”

The elderly lady stared at me blankly, her five-foot-nothing frame continuing to jerk a bit as it moved forward, and said nothing.

“Mrs. Tucker?” I asked again.

Still nothing.

Fear settled in the pit of my stomach like a lead weight. Something was very, very wrong here, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was. Mrs. Tucker continued to stare as she grew ever closer, and every hair on my body stood straight up as she slowly raised a hand in my direction.

“Mrs. Tucker?” It came out in a whisper. I don’t even know why I said it; Mrs. Tucker had very obviously left the building.

She grabbed my left bicep, and I full-body flinched, but her bruising grip never faltered. Instead, a menacing grin curled her lips, and she stepped right up until we were only inches apart. 

My heart raced, and my knees shook as I waited to see what came next. Nothing, no amount of training in the world could have prepared me for that moment. I knew somehow—instinct maybe—that I was going to die, and my mind flashed to all the patients I’d leave unprotected and to Tabitha who was on the other side of the building blissfully unaware. Did I have time to scream? Would that warn them or draw them closer to danger? What was this thing staring at me? It sure as hell wasn’t the gentle woman I’d grown to love over the years.

“Where is he?” she whispered, her voice cracking on the last word. “Where is…Dean Winchester?”

I shook my head. “I—I don’t—we don’t have a Dean Winchester here.”

She ducked her head but kept our gazes locked and her eyes flashed black. “Wrong answer.”

I was flung against the opposite wall, my back hitting a framed picture with a crack, and I hit the ground hard as glass shards rained down around me. This wasn’t happening. This could NOT be happening.

“I know he’s here,” Mrs. Tucker sing-songed. “Just give me the room number, and I’ll be on my way.”

I pushed myself up and sat back against the wall. Glaring at her, I curled my lip in disgust. “Screw off. I told you! I don’t know any Dean Winchester!”

She tilted her head to the right and snatched me up by the front of my shirt. “I don’t have time for your nonsense, child. His angel comes here every day. You know the one, tall, dark hair, hideous trench coat?”

My eyes widened. She didn’t mean…

“Ah.” She smiled again. “You know exactly who I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Mrs. Tucker lifted her free hand and curled it into a fist as pain exploded in my gut. Fire scorched my insides. My ribs broke with audible snaps. I dropped my head and whined in agony, the coppery tang of blood filling my mouth.

“Tell me or I’ll slaughter every person in the building!”

“Get your hands off her, you black-eyed bitch!”

I looked up to see Mr. Campbell standing outside his room door, leaning heavily on his cane with one hand and holding a vintage super soaker in the other. He had it aimed right for us.

“Well, well, well. About time you joined the party.” Mrs. Tucker dropped me with a grin, and my head bounced off the wooden baseboard. “I’ve been looking for you for an awful long time, you know.”

“Yeah, well, get in line,” Mr. Campbell growled. “You ain’t the first monster to come knocking.”

“No, but I’ll surely be the la—AH!”

Water splashed around us as Latin and sizzling filled the air. I blinked and rolled onto my stomach, coughing and spitting blood onto the carpet. Mrs. Tucker was backing up and spewing all kinds of curses towards Mr. Campbell, but he continued to advance on her while reciting the old language smoothly, his voice never faltering, and he was soon standing between us, blocking me from her view. Mrs. Tucker let loose an awful howl, and the air whistled and whirled around us before cutting off abruptly. 

When it was over, the only sound my own ragged breathing, I gripped Mr. Campbell’s ankle. He turned around and eased himself to his knees before cradling my upper body in his arms. “Hey, Sweetheart,” he murmured. “You stay with me, okay? Back up’s coming.”

“Y’ don’ have a phone,” I groaned.

The corner of his mouth twitched up, and he pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the blood on my face. “I know that.”

“Then how…?”

“DEAN!” 

Mr. Campbell turned. “Down here!”

Footsteps raced towards us, and Cas appeared on my other side. “What happened?” he demanded as I fought to hang onto consciousness. 

“Demon. It got to her before I could get the holy water ready. Where’s Sam?”

“Never mind that now.”

Gentle hands cupped my face, and I blinked lazily but couldn’t focus. It was all too…blurry. “Said you were ‘n angel,” I murmured “It wanted…”

“Shh, It’s okay. You don’t have to speak.”

Warmth shot through me, and I sat up with a gasp. “What the hell was that?!”

Mr. Campbell grinned, but Cas just watched me warily. “Heaven, actually,” Mr. Campbell joked.

I scurried back until I hit the opposite wall and looked around. A picture was smashed, glass and blood and water covering the carpet, and Mrs. Tucker’s body lay limp several feet away. I covered my mouth and gasped. “Oh my gosh…”

“She’s gone,” Cas sighed. “The strain of possession must have been too great for her to bear.”

My head whipped back to him. “Possession? You mean that was an actual demon?!”

“I’m afraid so. You’re lucky Dean heard the commotion and knew what it meant.”

“I’ve still got some screws left,” Mr. Campbell winked.

I just stared at him open-mouthed. What was I supposed to say to that?

Cas stood and helped Mr. Campbell to his feet before extending a hand in my direction. “You may want to help Dean back to bed while I clean up this mess,” he told me. “I also need to visit your coworker and erase any memory she may have of the attack.”

After tamping down the nausea in my gut, I gripped Cas’s hand and let him pull me up. “I don’t…what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “I can’t just go on like nothing happened! I mean, that, that thing tried to kill me!”

Cas grasped my shoulders and looked me hard in the eye. “The best thing you can do is go on about your work. I’ll stay the night, check the wards, and if you want, I can explain everything to you in the morning. For now, you need to be strong and finish your shift. Can you do that?”

I nodded.

“Good. See that Dean gets in bed safely.”

“O…kay?”

Cas smiled at me, but I recognized it as the same one I’d give him when he was at a loss as to what to do with Dean. It was meant to comfort when there was no comfort to be had, when you didn’t know what else to do.

I put a gentle hand on Mr. Campbell’s arm and steered him back towards his room. “Just wait ‘til Sammy gets here,” he said excitedly as I glanced back at Cas. “You’re gonna love him…”  
_____________

10/31/2055 @ 0843

After getting Mr. Camp—Winchester—Dean—whatever his name was—back in bed, I came out to a spotless hallway and Tabitha at the front desk, Cas nowhere to be seen. We found Mrs. Tucker, dead, in her bed on our next set of rounds, and the funeral home came to pick her up shortly thereafter. The entire time I was numb, my body running purely on autopilot and shock until I finished my shift and made it out the front door. Dean gave me his usual wave and grin, and I returned them as best I could while hurrying to my car. Cas was waiting there for me, leaning against the hood with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat and a face full of apologies, and I suppressed a groan at the sight. His presence meant it was all real.

We stopped for coffees at a local shop before driving to a park and winding up on a bench facing the river. That’s when he finally started talking. Ghosts, demons, Heaven, Hell, frigging vampires and werewolves and, and—

“Say something.”

I traced the rim of my cup with a finger and bit my lower lip. “What’s there to say? If I hadn’t seen what I did last night, I’d think this was all some sort of elaborate Halloween prank or that I’d been drugged or something. I don’t—” I huffed a laugh and pushed my bangs out of my face with my free hand before glancing at the…the angel (so weird) beside me. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around all this. It’s…” I waved a hand through the air.

“A lot, I know.” Cas sighed and sipped his drink slowly.

“Do you even need that?” I asked. “I mean, you said you don’t sleep, so…”

“No, but I’ve grown fond of the taste, and little things like this help me blend in.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I was a bit awkward when I first came to earth.”

“You?” I said, feigning astonishment. I rolled my eyes and put a hand on my chest. “No!”

Cas chuckled, a deep rumble that reverberated through his chest, and looked down at his cup. It was a good sound, warm, comforting, and I found myself wanting to make him laugh like that again. “I want to thank you,” he said suddenly, “for taking care of Dean. Now that you know the truth, I imagine it will be easier to manage him, but you’ve done an amazing job already. He seems happy.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Cas. It’s my job to do right by him.”

“Still…”

“And Dean’s a sweetheart anyway,” I continued with a grin. “He makes my job easy. You’d be surprised how rude some people can be, but he never is. Dean’s a good guy, even if he does flirt.”

He hummed his agreement, and we lapsed into silence. 

“What are you gonna do after he’s gone?” I blurted. Nice. Real subtle.

Inhaling deeply, Cas pursed his lips. “I don’t know. Sam and Dean…they’re the only true family I’ve ever known. I’ll find something eventually, I suppose.”

I tugged on my earlobe and glanced out at the water. Trees hung over it on either bank, their leaves varying shades of red and gold that painted brilliant streaks of color across the water’s surface. “You know, we can always use the extra help at work if that’s something you’d be interested in. My boss already loves you, and you get along well with the other residents. I’m not saying go around and heal people all the time or anything, but you could do some real good there just by being yourself.”

“Maybe.” His head bobbed once in my periphery. “It’s an idea.”

“Yeah.” I shook my head quickly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No! It’s okay!”

“I’m just worried about you,” I explained. “I have a habit of getting too attached to people, and—”

“Taylor.” I jerked at the feel of his hand on my arm and looked up at him sheepishly. Cas was smiling at me, his eyes soft. “I think it’s nice how much you care. You…connect with your patients. It’s what makes you so good at your job.”

“Oh, um, well.” I could feel myself blushing and avoided his gaze by pulling my jacket tighter around myself. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  
_____________

4/16/2056 @ 0513

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Dean.” 

I glanced up, but he was staring resolutely at the shower wall in front of him, his jaw clenched.

“It happens to everybody at some point,” I continued while running the soapy cloth along his legs and making sure to wash away any remnants of his accident. “It’s happened to me before.”

That earned me a derisive snort.

“You don’t think so?” I asked, raising my brows at him.

Finally, Dean spared me a glance—though it was just a quick flash of his eyes in my general direction more than anything—before rolling his eyes skyward with a sigh. “Are we seriously gonna do this right now?”

I held up a hand palm out before rinsing the rag and grabbing the sprayer. Shielding his forehead with one hand, I began spraying him down. “All I’m saying is, don’t let it get to you. It’s just one of those things that happens, and we take care of it, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

I finished rinsing him and cut the water off before wrapping a towel around his shoulders and working another smaller one through his hair. After I helped him dress, I handed Dean his cane and stood with my hands on my hips. “Well, dude, are you getting back in bed or hanging out with me and a cup of coffee before breakfast?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and eyed the plastic bag of clothes in the corner. “You, uh, want me to take care of that? I’m pretty good with stains.”

“No. I’ll wash those. What I want is for you to get comfortable. So, bed or coffee?”

“Coffee’s good.”

“Okay. You coming up or want me to bring it here?”

“I’ll come up.”  
_____________

9/1/2056 @ 0715

“C’mon, Dean. You need to eat something.”

He just stared at the plate, his hands resting on the table on either side, before glancing up at me.

“Need some help?” I asked gently.

Dean looked back at his breakfast and shook his head. “No, thanks.”

“Okay.”

I waited a few more minutes. When it became clear he had no intention of digging in, I tried again. I pulled on a glove and picked up a strip of bacon. “How about some bacon? You like it.”

He blinked and took the food, before placing it back on the plate silently.

I bit my lip and cast a worried glance over at where Cas was leaning against the side of the large brick fireplace that separated the dining room from the lobby. He tilted his head at me in question, and I shook mine slowly. Even from my seat by the window, I could see him sigh and furrow his brows. We’d discussed what would come next if Dean continued to lose weight, and neither of us were thrilled about it.

“How about this,” I asked as I scooped some eggs onto his spoon and held it out. I carefully wrapped Dean’s fingers around the handle and guided it to his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, and we repeated the process a few more times before he refused to eat or drink any more. I bit the inside of my cheek as I noted the amount of food left—he’d only eaten about 20%, but that was better than usual, so I’d take it.

“Hey, guess who’s here!” I said cheerily while clearing his place. Dean eyed me curiously, and I nodded toward Cas as he pulled out the chair opposite his friend. “Cas is gonna hang out with you for a while, okay?”

“Hey, man.” Dean grinned, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “It’s been a while.”

I swallowed and tried to tamp down the pain in my chest. Cas rarely left Dean’s side these days, only when we needed to step in and administer care or for a few hours to keep up the pretense of being human to those who didn’t know their secrets. In fact, Cas had watched over Dean from the edge of the dining room ever since it became clear Dean wasn’t going to eat while Cas distracted him with conversation. It had only been a few minutes…

“Is Sam with you?”

Cas folded his hands on the table. “No. Sam couldn’t make it today…”  
_____________

1/24/2057 @ 0724

“Hey, happy birthday, Dean!” I grinned over my shoulder while opening the blinds. “How old are you today? Twenty-two?”

He blinked at me as he slowly woke up. It was becoming more and more difficult to get a reaction of any kind out of him, but we still tried. Cas continued to hold one-sided conversations with him, earning the occasional smile or frown depending on the nature of the statement, and the staff did whatever we could to maintain a cheery disposition in his presence.

“I’ve got you a surprise,” I told him while using the remote to put his bed into an upright position and fixing his covers. Dropping the needle on his favorite Led Zeppelin record, I winked at him. “Just you wait, birthday boy. You’re gonna love it.”

As if on cue, Liz walked in balancing a tray of milkshakes with Cas on her heels. “Hey, Dean!” she smiled. “How’s it feel to be another year older?”

Nothing. Not a grin, or a blink, or anything.

Cas began setting up napkins for everyone and putting a straw into Dean’s shake (double chocolate swirl with a large amount of Ensure for added nutrients—we had to get whatever we could in him at that point) while Liz sidled up next to me. “It’s cool that you’re staying over for him,” she told me. “I know Cas is all he has. It means a lot.”

“Yeah, well, they mean a lot to me, so.” 

“You need anything before I go?”

I watched the two men for a few seconds. Cas was guiding the straw to Dean’s mouth, and Dean lit up at the taste. Smiling and shaking my head, I told her, “Nah, we’re good.”

“Okay.” Liz offered me a sad smile and pulled her red hair up, pinning it into a bun at the base of her skull. “You should get some rest later though. You still have to work tonight, remember?”

“I will. Thanks, Liz.”  
_____________

5/18/2057 @ 0435

Cas hadn’t moved in hours. His blue eyes stared unblinking at the face of the man he’d saved several times over, the man who’d returned the favor many times, the man who had become more than a friend, the brother his own had never been. The angel’s hands were fisted under his chin, elbows on his knees, and feet flat on the floor. Nothing shook him. Nothing garnered a reaction of any kind.

Tabitha eyed him strangely as we went about changing Dean and smearing calmoseptine on his tailbone. She kept glancing over at the concrete angel while we placed pillows strategically around Dean in order to prevent bedsores. She’d mentioned once to me earlier that morning how Cas looked tired but also…not. 

“I’ve never seen someone so focused,” she’d whispered while we set the dining room tables for breakfast. “I don’t know if it’s a grief thing or what, but he just like, zones out or something. He’s like a robot.”

“Everyone grieves differently,” I reminded her. “Cas has known this day was coming, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy on him. He’s all Dean has, but Dean is all Cas has, too. He’ll be alone after this, and that...” I sighed. “I can’t imagine having to face the world alone.”

“Does he even sleep?”

I placed the coffee mug on the table with a bit too much force and just stared at her. “Of course, he sleeps!” I hissed. “What kind of question is that?”

Tabitha shrugged and went on counting out the flatware. “I’ve just never seen him catch more than a few minutes at a time in that chair. It can’t be good for him.”

“It’s not. It’s been rough, but give him a break, huh? His whole world is laying in that bed, and he’s about to lose it.”  
_____________

5/23/2057 @ 1558

Dean Winchester died on a Tuesday.

Dean’s call light went off shortly after 0200, and when I opened his door, I knew. Death leaves an emptiness in its wake, one so strong, it forces silence upon those who come near. Its presence weighed heavily on the dim room, lengthening the shadows and muffling the sound of my footsteps on the carpet.

Cas was gripping Dean’s hand and holding it to his forehead, his shoulders shaking around muffled sobs as I carefully stepped forward. Slipping my stethoscope from around my neck, I placed it to Dean’s frozen chest and closed my eyes, waiting, listening for what I knew would never come. It was a formality with an angel in the room and my own experience telling me what the simple test would yield, but I had to perform it anyway. I waited a full minute, counting out the seconds in my head and then a few more, before opening my eyes and replacing my stethoscope around my neck. 

The angel was still shaking, tortured little sounds escaping his lips while he pressed his face into the mattress beside Dean’s forearm, and I couldn’t help but go over and wrap my arms around him. 

“Shh,” I whispered while rocking him gently. “I know, Cas, I know.”

Tabitha came in several minutes later, a question in her eyes as she surveyed the scene, and I pressed my mouth into a line, confirming her fears. She huffed and squeezed her eyes shut, steadying herself and controlling her grief long enough to get her job done. 

“Cas.” He’d stopped shaking but had yet to let go of Dean’s hand. I squeezed him tightly before releasing him, leaving only my palm to rub soothing circles on his back as I spoke. “Cas, we need to get him cleaned up. Do you…is there anything special you need me to do?”

Cas sat up and shook his head slowly.

“Okay, buddy. Just, hang out in the hall for a bit, okay? I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”

That had been yesterday, before the funeral home was called for transport, and before I called Cas for details on the arrangements. Now, pulling my car onto the gravel drive beside what appeared to be the crumbling remains of an abandoned factory and following the winding path back through the trees to the edge of a large clearing, the grief was stifling.

I wasn’t lying when I told Cas I had a habit of getting too attached to people, of caring too much, but these guys had become more than a job—they were family. I’d taken to checking in with Cas on my days off by phone or over coffee at the park and occasionally visiting he and Dean in the facility. Before I found out the truth, I made sure he ate under the guise of fixing too much food for just me on my lunch break and coerced him into resting whenever he could. I listened as Dean told his stories—fairytales with gods and monsters and a trio of heroes who gave everything to the world and expected nothing in return—and hummed old ballads under his breath. I watched Cas care for his friend, the small touches, guiding hands, friendly reminders and careful redirection when confusion clouded Dean’s world. I looked forward to our casual conversations when Dean was having a good day, his eyes bright, hands gesturing animatedly as he explained whatever he had on his mind or ribbing Cas and stuttering when the angel’s sharp tongue retaliated. They’d wormed their way into my heart, and losing Dean after growing to love him was heart breaking to say the least.

Cas was carrying an armful of logs when I put the car in park and got out. He placed them at the base of a large pyre and strode towards me. I was barely upright when he all but bowled me over, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist.

“Hey,” I breathed, forcing a smile onto my face and rubbing his shoulders gently. He buried his face in my neck, and I ran a hand over his hair. “You’re okay, Cas. It’s fine. I’m here now.”

“You didn’t have to come,” he murmured, pulling back to look me in the eye.

“What, and miss all the work?” I gave his hands a squeeze. “I thought you might not want to do this alone.”

Cas’s head bobbed once. “Thank you.”

“So,” I nodded towards the wood pile, “how much more do you lack?”

“Actually, I was about to…to…”

My eyes fell on the sheet-wrapped form lying in the grass nearby. I swallowed around the lump in my throat and forced my lungs to inhale. “Ah.”

The angel seemed reluctant to move, and I couldn’t say that I blamed him. He’d explained to me once the significance of a “Hunter’s Funeral,” but that didn’t mean carrying out the act would be easy on him. How could it be? Dean was his best friend, his charge, his brother, and Cas had to burn him? That was so freaking wrong on so many levels.

I pursed my lips and really looked him over. The trench coat was soaked from the rain that’d been misting off and on all day, and his dark hair was sticking up in all directions like he’d been running his hands through it. Exhaustion pulled at Cas’s normally bright eyes, and his hands hung limply in my own. Someone had to take charge here.

Pulling him along with me, I shoved my feelings down and headed over towards Dean’s body before squatting at his feet. I picked him up at the ankles and looked expectantly at Cas. It took him a moment, but he seemed to get the message and grasped Dean under his shoulders. 

“On three,” I instructed. “One, two, three!”

Up and over he went onto the pyre—no small feat despite Cas’s strength and Dean’s deteriorating physical condition over the last few months. A body always seems heavier without the soul.

“Do you want me to, uh, you know?” I asked when we’d stepped back, gesturing at the lighter clenched in his fist.

“No. I—it should be me,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

Cas grabbed a couple of small canisters from the ground—one with salt and the other with gas—and poured them on Dean’s body before holding the lighter beneath the edge of the sheet.

A shaky breath and a metallic click, and it was done.

We watched the flames in silence, keeping watch even when the rain started coming down harder. I fed the fire every so often, keeping the flames alive long enough to finish the job, and when I wasn’t doing that, I had my arm looped through Cas’s in solidarity, and when the pyre had lessened to a smaller pile and he began to lean into my touch, I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes as he rested his head on top of mine.

It took a while, but when it was all said and done, Dean Winchester was reduced to a smoldering pile of ash in the middle of a rural Kansas clearing. 

Cas worked the ashes into the ground with a shovel and invited me “inside” (of where, I didn’t know) for a cup of tea when he was done, his voice casual but eyes betraying the truth, so I let him pile into the car and direct me back out to a thick clump of bushes below the factory. He got out and gestured for me to do the same. Following his lead, I picked my way through the overgrown greenery, down a few concrete steps, and waited while he unlocked a thick metal door.

I didn’t know what to expect—I thought angels lived in Heaven on clouds or whatever—but it wasn’t the antique command center we entered. Century-old equipment lined the walls, and bookshelves were packed into the space like the world’s few remaining libraries. I’d always wanted to visit one, to smell the old paper and leather and dust, but just about everything was on a screen these days, and public libraries were a thing of the past when the government could still afford to keep them running. Nowadays only the wealthy or truly devoted collectors outside of the government had access to large collections of actual books. 

Cas made his way down the stairs and to a coffee maker set up beside some polished tables, busying himself with heating some water and prepping the porcelain cups with bags while I explored nearby shelves in a state of shock, my fingers trailing along spines as my eyes skimmed over outrageous titles. It was insane. After the emotional toil of Dean’s death and subsequent funeral, my mind couldn’t quite make the connections needed to process what I was seeing. I was so caught up that I didn’t notice Cas had left the room until a warm blanket was wrapped around my shoulders.

“You should drink something,” he instructed me, nodding towards the steaming cups on the table. He’d shed his wet trench coat and suit jacket at some point, loosening his tie and rolling the sleeves on his white dress shirt up to his elbows. “I shouldn’t have let you stay outside in the rain. You’ll get sick.”

“I wanted to,” I reminded him quickly. Pulling the blanket tighter around myself, I smiled. “And thanks. I didn’t realize how cold I was.”

We each took a seat, but Cas seemed uninterested in his drink. He just sat with his hands clasped on the table and eyes downcast, staying motionless for several minutes. Eventually the silence was deafening, so I reached over to lay my hand gently on his forearm. Cas squeezed his eyes shut but covered my hand with his own before speaking.

“All this time,” he rasped. “I’ve known—” His face scrunched up. “I knew Dean for nearly fifty years and knew this day was coming, and I thought I was prepared. He’s human, after all, and humans aren’t meant to live forever. These last few years have been difficult, but I always thought we would have more time. Even when he became bedbound, I convinced myself it was only temporary, that he’d wake up and tease me for watching him sleep, that Death wouldn’t come for him yet. Now that it has…”

“It’s okay,” I told him. “What you’re feeling is normal, Cas. Regardless of whether it’s a spontaneous accident or a drawn-out illness, we’re never really prepared to lose our loved ones. Nothing can prepare us for that day we have to let them go, but you were amazing with Dean, and that matters a hell of a lot because some people just dump their family in an old folks’ home and take off because they can’t handle it when things get tough, but you stayed. You made sure Dean was as happy as he could be and watched over him until the very end. You gave him a good life. Hang onto that. 

“Grieve however you need to. Take your time. Loss isn’t easy, and no one handles it the same way, but when you can smile again, when Dean’s loss is easier to bear, remember the good times you shared. Remember the battles you fought and the people you saved and the smiles and dirty jokes and burgers and beers because that’s what matters. You did everything you could for him, and it was enough. You,” I gave his arm a little shake, drawing those eyes onto me, “are enough.”

“For years, my entire existence has revolved around caring for Dean. The world has been mostly peaceful for a long time, so…” Cas let out a shuddering breath. “What do I do now?”

“You grieve. You grieve, and then you live. You sit down and figure out what you want to do, and you do it because that’s what Dean would want for you.” I sat back and gave him a warm smile. “Go be happy, Cas.”  
_____________

5/21/2063 @ 0732

Footsteps came to a stop behind me, and without looking away from the river, I held a cup of coffee above my head. “How was Rome?”

Cas circled the bench and sat down. Loosening his tie, he sighed. “Hot. Crowded. Overly enthusiastic over a man with zero ties to my Father.” 

“But overall?” I peeked over at him and took a sip of my frappe.

“It was okay. I was able to track down the demon tormenting worshippers and destroy it without the public noticing.”

“So better than New York?” I teased.

Cas glared at me. “We swore not to mention New York.”

“Oh, come on! It’s been two years, Cas, and it’s not like they got a good image of your face in the video anyway. You were like Superman or something.”

“I couldn’t wear my coat for months!”

“To be fair, anyone wearing a trench coat in ninety-degree weather is bound to draw attention. Better to be noticed for looking like a hero than a sex offender.”

Cas threw his head back and laughed, and I couldn’t help joining him, the sounds bubbling up out of us. Eventually we quieted down and settled into a familiar silence, sipping our drinks and just enjoying the morning before it got too hot to be out. Meeting at the park had become a daily ritual after Dean died—the only exceptions being when Cas was away on a job or when I went on vacation. We took turns buying the coffee, occasionally splurging on baked goods as well, and would talk about whatever was on our minds, seeking comfort in our friendship and finding a sense of peace there by the river.

“I took the rest of the weekend off. Figured with tomorrow and everything…”

He nodded. “Thank you.” 

“I think he’d be proud of you. I mean, I know that demons only surface every so often, but you’re making a real difference in the victims’ lives.”

“I’m no closer to finding that crack in the Gates of Hell,” Cas grumbled.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s not your fault. I still think you need to figure out why the crack occurred in the first place and then narrow down your search.”

“You also think EradiCA was manmade.”

My head whipped around to stare at him. “What?”

“The creator may have wanted to remain anonymous because revealing his identity would be potentially earth-shattering to much of the human population.”

I waited, but when it became clear Cas wasn’t going to elaborate, I shoved his shoulder playfully. “And?!”

“And,” he teased, “I happen to know of a particular angel with an interest in healing.”

“Are you for real right now? An angel is behind the cure to freaking cancer?!” I was practically vibrating with excitement. I’d always wondered about EradiCA’s inventor and why they’d never wanted anything in return.

The corner of Cas’s mouth quirked up in his trademark smirk. “He tried using the same technology to take on Alzheimer’s Disease before deeming it a lost cause, but the rumor is that he recently began experimenting with it again in between traveling for other work.”

I grinned and took his face in my hands, pulling him in to plant a wet, smacking kiss on his cheek. 

“What was that for?” he laughed, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

“For being a sly dog. I can’t believe you never told me you were behind all that! Cas! That’s amazing! Did Dean know?”

“Of course. He was my first test subject.”

“Dean had cancer?” I asked, but it was no wonder they’d never talked about it seeing as how they were trying to keep it all under wraps.

“Prostate cancer when he was fifty-two. It was still in the early stages when he found out, but rather than let me heal him outright, Dean decided that perhaps we could harness my healing ability so that others wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. He was getting too old to hunt, but he still wanted to save lives. EradiCA was the answer. A small portion of my blood—and therefore grace—is used in each batch made.”

“So, what’s in the rest of the vaccine?”

“Water, mostly, though there is a fair amount of serotonin to balance out the initial surge of energy.” Cas took a sip of coffee and glanced at me. “What?”

I shook my head, trying and failing to tamp down the smile on my face. “It’s just, you and Dean…you’re still saving the world.”

Cas nodded and stared up at the sky, the smirk still playing on his lips. “Yes,” he said. “He is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Let me know! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> *It's come to my attention that this fic hits pretty hard for some people, and I get it. I wanted to show dementia as it really is, so I didn't sugarcoat things, but know this: if you are caring for someone in the end stages of their life, you matter. Your feelings are valid. Grief is multidimensional and different for everyone. I don't normally do this, but if you're having a difficult time and just need to vent, find and message me on Twitter @sarahsimmons712. I'm the one screaming about supernatural and being a mom, and I'm always open to talk. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves, folks.  
> -Sarah


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